


Picking Up the Pieces

by agoodtuckering



Series: Carving A New Life [2]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hidden Feelings, Post-Prison, Post-Season/Series 04, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 09:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: It's been nearly a year since he's last seen her. He has avoided her at all cost. His luck had to run out one day, no?





	Picking Up the Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written with Lewis Capaldi's Someone You Loved in mind. Take my word for it and have a listen. It helps capture the angst and heartache they're both feeling. Lewis' music is incredible. You guys wanted more from the last one and you all loved my idea to make this into a series, so here I am with more. Let me know what you think of it and leave a comment, please. Here we go, even though this fic is post series 4. Everything will be explained in the story, I promised.

_ **Now the day bleeds** _  
_ ** Into nightfall** _  
_ ** And you're not here** _  
_ ** To get me through it all** _  
_ ** I let my guard down** _  
_ ** And then you pulled the rug** _  
_ ** I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved** _

_ ** — Lewis Capaldi, Someone You loved ** _

* * *

He hated this office more than anything. It smelled of a nauseating lemon cleanser and air freshener, as if someone had sprayed too much cologne and someone else working in the area had sprayed an air freshener can around in an effort to try to rid the space of it all. In reality, it had only made it worse. 

His head was pounding, a migraine steadily approaching now.

Worst of all, Malcolm knew _ she _ was here. He’d done his best to avoid her in every fucking way. He wanted nothing to do with her. Was it guilt? Was it hatred? Was it a mixture of both, or something else entirely? He didn’t have a clue. He didn’t _ want _to know. 

He was only sure of one thing. He just _ didn’t _want to see her. 

As he was leaving, however, Fate had other ideas. He nearly went bumping right into the woman. He apologized, turning around and coming face-to-face with her. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he’d said earlier. Now he was wondering _ just how sorry _he really was. He noticed the cup of coffee in Nicola’s hand. It was a shame he hadn’t knocked it clear out of her fingers and spilled it everywhere. He wouldn’t have felt sorry about it at all, in that case.

“What a fucking miracle,” she remarked, her eyes narrowing at him. 

He looked dumbfounded for a moment, his eyebrows drawing together in a confused manner. Then he realized what she’d meant. That it was a fucking miracle that he’d ever apologized for anything in his life, even if it was just bumping rudely into a lass, on accident or not. 

She continued after a moment, adding, “It’s probably the only miracle between you and me.”

He didn’t think it would make him feel _ quite this way. _Something in his chest constricted at the sight of her. The dust had settled since the very last time they had seen one another, at his trial, and she seemed almost placid and tranquil now, in a way. She wasn’t immediately reaching out to strangle him, anyway. She wasn’t trying to stab him with the ballpoint pen in her hand, either. Maybe sending him to prison had been enough for her. She didn’t even dump her hot cuppa down the front of his shirt. 

Instinctively, he reached his hand down to smooth out his tie. His lip snarled for a moment, eventually replying, “Ye bet yer fuckin' knickers. Ae, it’ll never happen again.” He wanted to say more, something worse, but the fight had gone from him like the wind in his sails the moment she hadn’t tried to kill him in the most painful way possible with any of the office supplies in her hands.

Again, she surprised him. She suddenly asked, “Dare I even ask how you’ve been?” 

He scoffed and chuckled. "Dinnae bother,” he replied. “I know ye don't really fuckin' care anyway. No that I blame you, ae." He stood up a bit taller, looking for all the world like he was an undertaker. Tall, thin, gaunt as ever. There was still that same fire in his eyes, though.

“Why were you here at _ The Department of Health and Social Care? _ Figured you were done with the government, you know, after everything.”

He stiffened for a moment. “I am,” he was quick to say. “But I'm on the board of negotiations and conflict-resolution for a company called _ Off The Table _now. I was here for a private matter. I cannae discuss it. Believe me, I’m no here by choice.” 

Suddenly she asked, “Because you knew I’d be here?” 

The question caught him off guard. With a sigh, he replied, “Listen, darlin', I dinnae fuckin' care about ye. I dinnae care about seeing ye. A bit unavoidable, seeing the _ Secretary of State for Health and Social Care. _Dinnae how ye managed that one but congratulations. Maybe you could finally sell those fuckin' wooden toys you were always on about, ae. Or maybe edible ones. Oh, ae, edible ones. Even fuckin' better. No mess to clean up later on, right? Much better.”

Her eyes rolled in a way that felt far too familiar. For a moment, his chest ached. 

It hadn’t all been bad with her. Those years together weren’t as fucking awful as he had painted them out to be. Boring at times, true, maybe, but not all terrible. He could recall many a night they’d spent together in the Opposition's HQ with a takeaway as they worked on her speeches or various other important event ideas. He could distinctly recall enjoying going on visits to various locations with her. He could remember _ just how good _ she was with the ordinary, normal fucking civilians. He could recall occasionally being very, _ very _proud of her. 

_ No, it wasn’t all bad. _

She softened for a moment, lowering her voice as she said, “I’m getting a divorce. James and I are separated. I don’t know if you’ve heard.”

Why should he fucking care at all?

Then he remembered that phone call, years and years ago, the first time she’d found out that James was cheating on her. The night of the conference, in Brighton, when her lying, cheating husband had bum-dialed her whilst having a tryst with his lousy shitting secretary. In the middle of sex, he’d called her! Malcolm almost scoffed at the memory. 

_ A lot had happened that night, hadn’t it? _

Something had _ almost _happened between them, for starters. 

“Sounds like career suicide to me, Nic'la,” he said instead of the millions of things he _ could _have said, or possibly wanted to say. He shrugged, though, and added, “About fuckin' time, though, if ye ask me. Jesus shitting Christ, he’s a useless sack of cum.” 

There was a small, barely-noticeable smile on her lips at his words. In all honesty, on another subject, she was somewhat glad that he’d found himself another job. At least he didn’t have to put up with her omnishambolic life anymore. “So tell me about yourself,” she asked, wanting to switch the subject away from her marital troubles. “You've settled in well?"

People around the cubical area were looking their way but they hadn’t noticed, as absorbed as they were in conversation, albeit an awkward one. He was far less guarded than he realized. And honestly, the more she looked at him, the more she wondered if they had even fed him in prison. He was _ too skinny. _Unhealthily so, it seemed like. 

His brows furrowed and he chuckled. "Settled in well? From what? My reemergence into society after a rough stint in prison? Ae, it was only seven months..." She cared, even mildly. It occurred to him then. She wouldn't have asked if she didn't. "I'm just fine," he said, a bit stiffly. He was so uncomfortable. It was obvious to anyone watching them closely. 

She glanced down quickly at her watch, looking for some sort of excuse to leave. “Right,” she said quietly. “I’d better be off. I have a meeting to prep for and visits to plan. It was… nice seeing you, Malcolm. Take care.” 

"Dinnae even bother trying, hen,” he said, voice low and teasing. “I'm sure yed rather find yer secretary dead with a needle in her arm and a call boy (or two) asleep at her side than fuckin' see me again. But that's just fine.” He fixed his coat, adding a soft, “Fuckity bye, _ Minister,” _before wandering off to find the exit as fast as possible. 

Nicola's PA, Carey Walsh, came wandering over her way, mumbling, “Is that _ him? _I thought he’d be scarier.” Nicola turned, an eyebrow rising. She laughed, “Don’t let him fool you. He’s a shark. A deadly shark. He lurks quite a bit before attacking. Thin or not, subdued or not, he’s still just as dangerous as he used to be. Even a tiger is still dangerous when it’s missing the majority of its teeth. Do you have my notes for the meeting tomorrow morning?” 

Even though the subject changed, despite it all, she still tried to ignore the tug in her chest. What was it about them? There was so much unsaid, so much left in ruins between them. He had ruined her life and then she’d gone and ruined his right back. But, in many ways, what she had done was much worse. 

She was the reason he’d caught himself in his own web of lies in that inquiry. She’d called for it in the first place. And at trial, with him staring holes into the side of her face, she’d said just what she’d needed to and hammered _ the last nails _ into his coffin. She’d been a good portion of the reason he’d gone away to prison and she’d battled with that enough over the past year or so. 

None of it mattered, though. _ Not really. _They hated one another now, didn’t they? If that was really true and they did, then why did it still hurt? Why had they even bothered to stop and speak with one another? Everything just hurt. It didn’t make sense. It never would, either.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the end of the series. More to come. x


End file.
